The three that I loved, together grew One
by LadyTardisOfHogwarts
Summary: Merlin catches sight of something he wishes he hadn't; Gwen and Lancelot. He considers whether he should tell Arthur - and unfortunately realizes that he himself loves all three of them, which makes things...difficult. One-shot! Reviews appreciated!


Merlin closed his eyes tightly, squeezed them into nothing. Then he tried to relax his body, still almost collapsed against the wall. His fists clenched, he turned an inch around the pillar, and his heart crumpled. Gwen stood embracing Lancelot fiercly, his hand on her lower back and then knotted in her hair. For a moment they paused, mumbled something, stared at each other in silence, and then began kissing again.

Merlin tore his eyes away and ran from the corridor, fleeing what he wished he had never seen. A rush of broken hearts overwhelmed him, and he stopped in the cold air as he approached home. How could three people he loved so dearly have done this? How could this ever have happened?

Merlin attempted to control his rising panic, and walked slowly home, trembling violently from more than just the cold. He collected his thoughts, thought to compose himself, and slipped into bed, once again immediately plagued by what he had seen.

Merlin was Arthur's best friend, not his knight, but something more - surely it would be his duty to inform his King? Yet, Merlin couldn't bare to hurt Arthur like that, least of all because it could destroy Albion to have a weakened King.

On the other hand, Merlin knew Gwen. He knew she would never do anything to hurt Arthur, and knew it was equally painful for her to love two men. And Lancelot, oh, Lancelot. Merlin just wished his noble heart could have prevailed for longer.

Images of the three swam in Merlin's mind, and it came down to this;he would tell Arthur because he cared, and therefore destory Camelot - or let Albion be consumed in its due course, as it was now surely heading for its downfall. Merlin fell asleep, but not at ease.

* * *

><p>Merlin arose late, having been up till the early hours of that morning itself. He threw his jacket on, and ran for the Castle.<p>

'You're late.' Arthur said tersley as Merlin hurried to his seat by the King. The knights grinned at Merlin, assuming his disheveled appearance to be the product of late night at the tavern. Merlin smiled back weakly, and then absent mindedly locked his gaze on Guinevere. In the background Arthur had begun speaking, but neither Merlin, Gwen, or indeed Lancelot were focusing. Gwen's eyebrows were heavy, her eyes weary - not all together convincingly dry, but entirely contained. Lancelot could not even look at the King, and at some point Merlin realised that Lancelot's eyes were fixed upon Merlin, and Gwen was suddenly aware of Merlin's gaze. At that point the three of them averted their eyes to another destination, betraying their inherent guilt to each other.

The meeting ended, and Arthur turned to Merlin, 'First you turn up 10 minutes late, and then you don't say anything the entire meeting. What's up with you today?' Arthur demanded, clear concern masked beneath his curt tone.

'I think I need to talk to you...' Merlin began quietly.

'Well, now would be the oppertune moment.' Arthur remarked impatiently. Arthur was tense, and Merlin wondered for a moment if he knew. He looked at Arthur, truly considered him, considered Guinevere, who was hurrying out of the room, eyes downcast. He thought for a brief moment of the Dragon, what he would advise should he have known Merlin's situation. For an instant, Merlin's mind was clouded with Arthur's grief, Gwen's shattered self, his own Lancelot; gone. At once Merlin knew his own stupid, unimportant heart was involved in this, but he tried to focus on the future of Camelot. He drew a slow breath in, no longer aware of Arthur's presence. He thought of the mess it had come to, and he tried to distance himself, tore himself from the three of them for the greater good.

'Well?' Arthur prompted.

'It's nothing, nevermind.' Merlin smiled at Arthur reassuringly, an old, practised smile. Just like old times; nothing was wrong.


End file.
